by Aven Ellis
Many, many times, I think with a wicked grin, as flashbacks of our sexy weekend play in my head.
As they do, I hit pause on the one of him going out into the snow to cut wood, showing me how to do it with his old-school ax. He had a knit, navy cap covering his glorious brown-blond locks, and he wore a navy and camel flannel shirt. He split wood with ease with his strong arms.
Maxime looked oh-so-manly doing it, all rugged outdoorsman.
And oh-so-sexy.
We need another blast of winter weather, I think mischievously.
I turn to enter the conference room, and Aly is already sitting in her chair.
I keep a smile on my face. While everything with Maxime is sorted out, things with Aly are not.
“Good morning,” I say, taking a seat several chairs down from her.
“Good morning,” she says, flipping a page in her planner.
Silence fills the room.
If it were anybody else, I’d ask if they had a good weekend, share my thoughts on the wintry weather, and ask if they are ready for this week.
Aly, however, makes typical office small talk impossible, as she answers me in one-word sentences as if she’s put out having to speak with the reality show castoff.
I absently scroll through my phone as a distraction, hoping someone else will walk into the conference room so this awkwardness can end.
“You seem to be making a fresh round in the tabloids,” Aly says, breaking the silence.
Ugh. I’d rather go back to awkwardly not talking.
“It’s temporary. They’re only interested because he’s the first man since Tom,” I answer.
“Very convenient.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Aly shoots me an innocent look. “Well, going from one famous person to another certainly keeps your Q Score up,” she says, referring to the rating system that measures celebrity appeal.
“You think I’m dating Maxime because he’s an athlete?” I ask, appalled. “Are you implying I have motives for dating him?”
“I didn’t say that at all. But dating a professional athlete would keep your publicity machine rolling. That’s a fact.”
Anger rips through me. I’m not putting up with this. We might have to work together, but she will not speak to me like this.
It’s ending right now.
“You don’t have to like me, Aly. That’s fine. You don’t have to respect me, either. We can work together effectively regardless of how you feel about me, for the good of the show. I can’t change what you think about me, but I don’t have to listen to it. I’d appreciate it if you would keep your comments about my personal life, including Maxime Laurent, to yourself in the future.”
Aly’s eyes widen. “You’re being way overdramatic about this. There’s no need to get defensive.”
“I’m not being defensive. I’m telling you to not bring up my personal life.”
“I’m shocked you think I’m attacking you,” Aly says. “I was making small talk about something that isn’t a secret, not when it’s screaming at me from the checkout line at the store, Skye.”
“No, it’s not a secret, but that does not mean I want to talk about it.”
Aly snorts. “Ha-ha. Funny, coming from the woman who dated, fell in love, and wanted to get a ring on-air. I find it a bit of a stretch to think talking about it would be an issue for you, but whatever. We don’t have to talk at all, which I would find preferable, actually.”
I sigh in exasperation. “Aly, it doesn’t have to be this way. I wish we could work together as two young women supporting each other in a tough business, encouraging each other and having each other’s backs. We would both gain more by helping each other.”
Aly glares at me. “I’m not your cheerleader, Skye. This isn’t the Is It Love? mansion, and we’re not going to sit around and braid each other’s hair and sip wine and cry over some guy we had oh, maybe four dates with? I’m not interested. I take broadcasting seriously. I have to work with you, and I will, but I won’t be your in-house praise team.”
She clicks her pen and goes back to her planner.
I sit still in my chair, the wind knocked out of me from her blunt attack. I’ve heard all these things before online and in tabloids. Strangers said them. Trolls said them.
But never from someone sitting in the same room as me.
Despite my strong words, I find my confidence shaken by her view of me. How many other people at the station think I’m an idiot? A stupid, young girl who made out with a guy on TV and has no skills or talents to offer?
I’ll continue to show them with my work, I think, vowing to take on more assignments. I’ll work harder than anyone here. I’ll work my way up to filling Aly’s seat when she’s out. Then nobody can accuse me of not deserving to be here.
Then Maxime enters my thoughts, and I bite down on my lip as I think of him. How many of Maxime’s teammates think this? Are they saying things behind his back? What about his friends back home in Belgium? His family?
I didn’t want to drag him through the tabloids, but what am I dragging him through without the media? Do they think I’m seeking to continue my fame by dating him? Do they think I’m after his money? Do they secretly wonder if I’m good enough for their friend, their teammate, their brother? Do they see me as the girl from TV, and not the woman I have become based on that experience?
People start filing into the room, and a box of donuts is placed next to me on the table. My co-workers begin discussing their weekends while I remain locked in my own tortured thoughts.
Maxime might be able to handle the tabloids, but can he handle what his friends and family will say to him based on the little they’ve seen of me on social media and TV? Maxime hasn’t told me if he’s mentioned me to his family. Do they know about me? What would they think? Would they want their son with the girl who made out with a man on TV and claimed it was true love?
I need people to understand that the show doesn’t define me as a whole. I’m smart and ambitious and have my own career dreams to fulfill. The Skye who was on Is It Love? is not the same woman who has fallen in love with Maxime.
It’s more important than ever that I prove myself beyond the Is It Love? tag. Not only for my professional career, but for the man I love.
My entire future depends on it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Celebrate Life with Sprinkles—The Blog
Priorities
“Honey, I have to say, we’re all worried about you,” my mom says.
After lugging groceries up to my apartment, I take a moment to set them on my countertop with one hand as I keep my cell against my ear with the other. I spend so much time at Maxime’s now that I rarely have to stock my kitchen. Since he’s going to be gone for the next six days, playing games in New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia, I thought it would be a good time to come to my place and try to catch up.
Catch up.
With overwhelming despair, I realize that’s all I do anymore.
It’s been four weeks since my conference room vow to prove to everyone I’m worthy of both my career and the man I love. I’ve been running nonstop, and I’m so freaking tired that some nights I can’t keep my eyes open. I bounce from the studio to the field, doing interviews and getting footage. I’m hands-on with editing, working closely with the editors for Boulder Live and recording voice-overs in the tiny, closet-like sound room. I’ve even volunteered for community work for the network, appearing at career days at schools and reading to kids during library time.
When I’m not doing stuff for the network, I’m writing my book, blogging, uploading pictures to Instagram and Connectivity, and scheduling my tweets. I’ve also signed on to emcee a charity gala, shot a public service announcement for a no-kill animal shelter in town, and signed autographs and posed for pictures at some of their adoption events.
I’m shuttling Boris and Natasha between homes, and they seem to have adapted to this crazy life better t
han I have. After the temporary freak out that occurred when introducing them to Maxime’s dogs, they now co-exist nicely. Boris has taken a shine to the dogs, and Natasha has decided she likes Maxime better than anyone else, including me.
Juggling all of this is stressful, and I’ve lost some weight. My skin is also freaking out again.
I’m tired, I think. I’m so incredibly tired.
I shift my thoughts, as Mom would not be happy to hear just how exhausted I am, and attempt to reassure her I’m doing the right thing.
“Mom, you work in this industry,” I say, placing my re-useable canvas shopping bags on the counter. “You know how entertainment is. You must take every opportunity presented to you to build your presence and open more doors.”
“I understand that, but every time I call or text you, or your sisters do, or your father does, you are in the middle of something. Your social media is full of one event after another. You can’t keep going at this pace.”
I place a package of whole-wheat spaghetti on the countertop. To my surprise, tears fill my eyes.
“I don’t have a choice,” I say softly.
“Of course, you do. Honey, you don’t have to do everything. How are you finding time to relax? How do you find time for Maxime?”
I’m still trying to squeeze in all his home games, but by the time we get home, I’m so exhausted I’m falling asleep on his shoulder. Once, I nearly fell asleep in the car with him and missed a whole chunk of things he was saying to me because of my exhaustion.
“This is for me, but also for us,” I say, my voice breaking. I’m about to lose it.
“I don’t see how being too exhausted to have quality time for your boyfriend is good for the relationship.”
That comment rips straight to my heart. Maxime has been patient and understanding, but he, too, seems concerned that I’m working so hard. I keep telling him it’s the industry, but I see the skepticism in his beautiful eyes. I’ve asked him to trust me, and I’ve told him this will be good for me in the long run, as I’m building myself as a professional career woman. Maxime said he wants me to achieve everything my heart wants, but having me happy and healthy has to be a priority, too.
I couldn’t bear to tell him he is half of the reason I’m pushing myself so hard.
“Sweetheart,” Mom says gently, “Maxime deserves you at your best. You’re building a relationship with him now; this is important. You know I’m a career woman. I know what you’re facing. But I always made your dad a priority, and if that meant saying no to something, I did.”
But you didn’t have to worry about Dad’s friends and family thinking you are nothing more than a stupid contestant on a reality dating show.
I keep that humiliating thought to myself and clear my throat.
“It will be okay, Mom. I promise.”
She sighs heavily. “I hate that you are so stubborn.”
I manage a smile. “I learned it from the best,” I say.
Mom groans. “My own traits come back to haunt me.”
“I love you for loving me so much, Mom.”
“That I do,” she says gently. “I’ll always be honest with you because I do. So, I’m asking you to think carefully on my words. Take care of yourself, Skye. Nurture yourself and your relationship with Maxime. Before it’s too late.”
I say goodbye and hang up, her words hanging in my head. She has no idea I’m doing all of this to help my relationship with Maxime.
I finish putting away the groceries, grab a bottle of water, and take a deep swig. I flop down on the couch and think on her words. Maxime’s parents and siblings do know about me, but I cringe when I think of what would happen if they Googled me. I’m hoping my present self, the Skye after the show, is what they are thinking of when they picture us together. I can’t assume that is the case, though. I have to keep working and showing everyone how I’ve grown up. The book will be a huge part of this, which is another reason I’m writing nearly every night.
I haven’t told Maxime about my favorite section yet, which is the one I’m the proudest of so far. It’s about how he came into my life and taught me that women deserve to be treated like this, to have a man like Maxime as a partner, supporter, who helps you be your best you. It’s the one section I find myself going back and adding to, as he continually surprises me with the depths of his feelings for me.
He told me, after Juliette, he was very careful about saying the word love, but I know he feels it the same way I do.
I grab the remote and flip to the channel for Maxime’s game.
I watch the pre-game show open, and then they cut to the ice, recapping what happened in the previous game in New York. They talk about Westley’s recent great saves and how he’s coming into his own as a goaltender. They shift to Paul, the other alternate captain, who had great defensive plays to help secure last night’s win.
Then they show Maxime warming up on the ice in New Jersey, but I don’t hear what they are saying about him because my attention goes straight to a bright, neon green poster two fans are holding up against the glass behind Maxime. My stomach goes queasy when I see it:
IS IT LOVE? LAURENT OR IS IT LUST WITH SKYE?
Then I spot another one, this time, with a picture of us kissing that has been blown up from Dishing Weekly that says:
HEY, MAXIME, YOU’RE BETTER AT TONSIL HOCKEY THAN ICE HOCKEY
I wince when I see them, a wave of humiliation washing over me. My love for Maxime is now fodder for fans to use against him. If this were Gavin, he’d think it was hysterical and laugh his head off. Cade and Jude would ignore it as they do with anything the opposing fans do.
But Maxime isn’t like that.
Now his dating life is being paraded around opposing arenas, and fans are mocking him for being with me.
I simply hope with all my heart he can continue to fight the attention and stay with me despite it.
***
I kiss Maxime gently on his forehead, over both closed eyes, the bridge of his nose.
“I love day games,” I murmur before kissing his lips.
I can feel him smile against my mouth.
It’s Saturday night, and after playing his last game on the road earlier this afternoon, Maxime is finally home.
The first thing we did was fall into bed together to make love.
Being with Maxime is exactly what I needed. In his arms, I feel safe. Revered. Loved. None of the things that had been bothering me matter now. Nothing matters except for this love I feel for Maxime.
This is what will get me through the next few months, I think, feeling sustained again. This love will get me through deadlines and appearances. Once the social media starts kicking in on the book project, rebuilding me as the woman I am now, I can scale back. My love for Maxime will get me through this grueling pace. I know it can.
“I’m glad to be home,” he whispers before kissing me sweetly. “With you.”
Mmm.
He runs his hand over my waist, pausing at my hip.
“Have you lost weight?” he asks softly.
“Just a few pounds,” I say.
Maxime falls silent, and I know he’s worrying.
“It will be fine. I’m just so busy right now that I don’t take time to eat lunch some days.”
I sit up so I can look at him, and I see concern on his face. He reaches up to touch my hair, and as he strokes it, some strands come out in his hand.
Maxime gasps in horror and bolts upright, holding my long blonde locks in his hand.
“My God,” he says, his voice filled with alarm. “Skye, this isn’t normal. You need to see a doctor. I’m calling the team doctor. Something is wrong.”
I close my hand over his, and the lock of my hair he’s holding. “No, it’s stress.”
“Stress or unhappiness?”
“What?” I ask.
“I remember now. You told me your hair started falling out after the show ended, when you were upset about Tom.”
�
�I don’t understand what you are implying,” I say, a nervous feeling forming in the pit of my stomach.
Maxime shifts his gaze away from me.
“Maxime, talk to me. What are you thinking?” I plead.
He turns back to me, his eyes searching mine for answers.
“Are you happy with me, Skye?” he asks, his voice a whisper.
“Maxime,” I gasp, horrified that he would think this. “of course, I am! You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Please don’t take any of this upon yourself.”
I lift my hand from his and press my palm against his face. “It’s not you. I swear it has nothing to do with you.”
“Please tell me if it is me, if you aren’t happy. I need to know. I deserve to know.”
“You deserve to know you make me the happiest I have ever been in my life,” I say, my voice choking up.
“You’ve been distracted when we’ve been together,” Maxime says. “You drift off when I’m talking. Sometimes I wonder if you’re bored.”
I remove my hand from his face.
“You’re trying to compare me with Juliette,” I say, hurt.
“No, I—”
“You are trying to tie my behavior to hers, and that isn’t fair,” I say, my voice wobbling as I pull away from him. “I’m not Juliette. I happen to be a woman who is working very hard to build a career, and I get tired and exhausted, and sometimes I get distracted, but that doesn’t mean I’m bored with you. It means I am a human being. You should know how I feel about you. Especially after I’ve just made love to you in the way I did.”
I reach for the silky cotton sheet and pull it up around my body, holding it to me, hating the fact that he has placed Juliette in this room between us.
Maxime swallows hard. “Skye, I’m sorry.”
I don’t say anything.
He reaches for my hand, and I let him have it. Maxime entwines his fingers with mine.
“You’re right. It’s not fair for me to put the past into our present. I shouldn’t project that on to you. On to us. I don’t want you to ever be unhappy because of me, and the person I am.”
